


So Many Things to Say

by Dixie



Series: 2036 [3]
Category: Fringe
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-10
Updated: 2012-09-10
Packaged: 2017-11-13 22:41:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/508501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dixie/pseuds/Dixie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pre-Season 5.  After the latest round of spoilers and set pics... yet another 2036 fic.  </p><p>Visits to the amber.  Takes place after "Shine" and before "Out of the Amber", which has turned into an optimist's view of 2036...</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Many Things to Say

**Author's Note:**

> All props to OConnellAboo, Beta Extraordinaire, for making my words fall in the right order.

Etta's job as a Fringe Agent kept her out frequently at night; her Agent ID even permitted her to be out after curfew as long as she was on 'official business' - and what could be more official than visiting her boss? 

As far as Windmark was concerned, Simon was on 'administrative leave' for unnamed infractions; Broyles didn't ask her for details and she didn't offer any, when she told him Agent Foster might not be in for a while.  He did, however, fix her with his penetrating stare as he instructed her to keep him informed if there was anything he 'needed to know'.  

Broyles didn't need to know that Simon was frozen in amber as a result of freeing a member of the original Fringe team, her father; he also didn't need to know that her evening patrols typically included a visit to the deserted lab where Simon stood, hands outstretched, his determined look visible even through the golden haze of the amber.  

Sometimes, Etta would just sit quietly with him for a few minutes, just so he would know (and she would know) that he wasn't forgotten.  Sometimes, she'd pace in front of him and rage, pent-up frustration demanding a release.  Most nights, though, she'd stand in front of him, telling him about her day, the latest scuttlebutt from the Fringe division and the Resistance, what her life was like with a father and a grandfather after twenty years of no family at all.  

Regardless of her mood, she always told him goodnight, her hand pressed against the amber as if he could sense her presence. ~~~~

ooo

Leaving the lab after one of her late night visits, she glimpsed a shadowy figure exiting one of the nearby buildings. If she hadn't seen the intruder leave, backlit by the dim glow of a security light, she wouldn't have spotted them at all; he or she obviously knew their way around.  She lost track of the mystery person when they ducked down the steps of a deserted subway station, as if they knew they were being tailed.  

She made a mental note to monitor the area more closely for a few nights, then turned for home.  She didn't give it another thought until she spotted the same figure a few nights later, leaving the same building.  

This time, she tailed her target a little closer, close enough to determine that it was a tall, thin man, about her age, maybe a little older.  She still lost him, but to her surprise, he disappeared in their neighborhood, just a few streets away from the house Walter and her dad had commandeered as their home base.  

She was still thinking about him as she slipped into the darkened house, wondering if he was a Loyalist spy, a Resistance fighter, or some just poor soul scavenging for food or supplies. She toed off her boots and dropped her jacket over the end of the couch where she usually slept.  She really didn't expect anyone to be up, although Walter sometimes surprised her with his odd hours and erratic sleeping habits, but she noticed that the dim kitchen light was still on, probably left on for her; she padded into the kitchen to turn it off, not expecting to see her father sitting at the kitchen table, a glass of whisky in front of him.

"Dad!  What are you doing up?" she whispered.

"Hey, honey.... just couldn't sleep."  He glanced up at her, then looked away quickly.  "Do you want something to eat?  I think there's some of Walter's mystery stew left."

"No, I’m good," Etta replied as she sat down across from him.  "Are you ok?" she asked, and put her hand over his.  He seemed to jump a little at her touch, and covered it by lifting the glass to his lips.

Etta didn't say anything, but his hand was cold, as if he'd been out in the chill night air.  When she looked at him, he was gazing at his whisky, so she took the opportunity to study his face.

Peter's cheeks were flushed, as if he'd been running.  His hair was plastered to his head, as if he'd had on a close-fitting cap.

"Dad?  Are you ok?" she asked again.

He looked up at her and gave her a tight smile.  "Yeah, honey, just a long day," he sighed.  "How 'bout you?  Ready to turn in?"  He drained his glass and set it in the sink, then offered his hand to her.

"Goodnight, Dad," she whispered as he wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head.  "Get some sleep."

"You, too.  See you in the morning."  He gave her a quick hug, then turned out the light as they walked out of the kitchen.  Etta stretched out on the couch, and pulled her blanket close, but sleep was a long time coming as she pondered the man she'd followed... the man that looked an awful lot like her father.

ooo

A spate of Resistance activity spurred the usual Observer rebuttal, and after a dozen Natives were hauled in for 'questioning' and a dozen more wiped on the street, an unnatural calm settled over the area.  People scurried home well before curfew, not wanting to risk even the slightest infraction that would incur Observer wrath.

As a result, Etta's nighttime forays were limited as well.  No activity, no 'legitimate' reason for her to be on the street.  That didn't stop her visits to Simon, however; she just left the house later, after everyone was in bed - or so she thought.

She had dressed in the dark, and was about to lace up her boots when she heard Peter's footsteps on the stairs.  He was quiet, but in the silence of the sleeping house, she heard every footfall.  She lay back on the couch, and grabbed the blanket, using it to hide her jacket and boots.  The footsteps stopped for a moment when he reached the main floor, then Etta heard him walk past the couch into the kitchen.  The door creaked slightly as he eased out the back way.

ooo 

Rather than tracking Peter, Etta played a hunch.  Using her familiarity with the area to her advantage, she hurried to the building where she'd spotted the nighttime visitor, and tucked herself into the shadows.  About ten minutes later, a figure eased around the corner and through the door of the abandoned structure.  Etta gave him a couple of minutes, then followed him into the darkness.

He moved through the dark hallways with confidence, as if he'd been there many times; many more times than he'd been here, 2036, out of the amber.  Etta fell behind, not wanting to use her penlight, trailing him more by the sound of his footsteps.  When those footsteps stopped, so did she.  Her eyes were adjusting to the ambient light, and she glanced around, trying to determine a surveillance point.

She froze when she heard her father's voice.

"Hello, Liv."

ooo

"I wish you could see Etta.  You'd be so proud of her.  She's just like you, Liv... headstrong and stubborn and fearless.  Intense... the way you are when you're on to something."

He sighed.  "We haven't talked much about what happened.... too busy talking about what we're going to do next." He paused.  "I told you she's a Fringe agent... well, what passes for Fringe, nowadays."

"Phillip's still in charge, but only nominally.  Etta says he's just a figurehead, that he's only there to do what Windmark wants."  

Etta heard footsteps, but they weren't getting louder... or softer.  He was pacing?

"There's resistance, of course.  Not very well organized, but we're trying.  Walter's got a lot of ideas.  Etta, of course, she's right in the middle of it all."

"She says that Simon... that's her boss, I'll tell you more about him in a minute... that he had plans, he was starting to get the cells united, but he had to move slowly so he wouldn't raise suspicion."

"I don't know him, but Etta's face lights up when she talks about him."  Silence.

"Like the way you used to look at me, Liv... before..."

She heard her father cough, or clear his throat, before he continued.

"Smart guy.  I told you he built the device to get us out of the amber, didn't I?  And they used one of my old gadgets, the blaster, remember?  It broke before they got me out.  Etta said he pushed me out of the amber."

"I've been working on it, Liv.  Walter's fighting me... did I tell you he's back to normal?" Peter chuckled.  "Well, as normal as Walter could ever be.  He’s the Walter I remember growing up, though, before Bell carved up his brain."  He chuckled again, with a hint of bitterness.  "Not always the most pleasant guy to be around."

"He's been working on his machine, Liv.  The one he started on... before."  Another long silence.  "Still trying to find all the pieces.  Scrounge what we can't find.  He's hopeful, though."

"But you know Walter.... well, maybe you don't know THIS Walter.  He's a single-minded sonovabitch.  I have to work on the blaster, and the augmentation buffers, that's what dissolves the amber... I have to work on those when Walter's not around.  He's... it's like the time when I was working on the machine, remember?  Except he gets more pissed and less upset."  Another chuckle, almost a bark.  "The new and improved Dr. Walter Bishop, with fifty percent more bad temper."

"I AM working on it, though.  Need to get you outta there..."

She heard him moving again.

"We need you, Olivia.  We're gonna fight these bald-headed bastards again, but this time we're gonna win.  You'll see.... you'll see."

His voice grew quieter, but Etta swore she could hear him taking big, gasping breaths.  She crept a little closer, looking for a spot where she could see him without being detected.

She gasped, and froze, sure she'd be discovered, but Peter seemed too intent to notice.  He was leaning against the amber, his cheek pressed against it, his hand curved as if he was touching the person encased... a woman, lying on... a table?  A stretcher?  She couldn't tell from her vantage point and in the weak light.

"I.. I need you, Liv.  You know... we were always a good team.  I need you beside me to fight them.  I know things were bad between us... "

Peter turned, leaning his forehead against the amber, and moved his hand as if he was stroking the woman's face.  _Her mother's face,_ Etta thought in amazement.  _It couldn't be anyone else._

"I said a lot of things... we both did."  He took a deep breath before continuing.  "I had a long time to think about it... twenty years, Etta tells me."  

"She's alive, Liv , and she's ok... well, as ok as anyone is in this fucked up  world.  She made it."  A lone tear trickled down Peter's cheek, and Etta felt tears welling up in her eyes as well.

"We can make it, too, LIv.  I know we can find our way back."

Etta closed her eyes, not wanting to see the pain on her father's face anymore.  She heard him murmuring softly, only catching snatches now.  "Soon.... together.... love you."

And when she opened her eyes again, he was gone... nothing there but amber, and the shadow of a woman encased within it.


End file.
